The Storyteller
by CatBru
Summary: She is too young to understand why they are so protective. All she feels is alone. Then she meets the Storyteller.
1. The Storyteller

(If you're following me for my X-Men story, please know I DO plan on continuing. I recently moved and my computer with everything I have for it is locked in a high, high tower in the land of Storage.)

An AU story.

I'm working with the ages I found on the wiki page (where Eugene's 26 when Rapunzel is 18.) Gothel's kidnap got thwarted, so Rapunzel grows up in the castle. However, I'm a firm believer that it wasn't just a tiara that brought Eugene and Rapunzel together. This way, however, just takes longer and spans her childhood onward. What started out as a snippet grew into something longer, and may grow beyond this. Who knows!

**Summary:** She is too young to understand why they are so protective. All she feels is alone. Then she meets the Storyteller.

**Disclaimer: **If I owned Tangled, it probably would not have been half as awesome as it was.

Sadly unbetad. Woe is me. But I have spell check, and I THINK my tenses are all in a row.

(Also, without Gothel teaching her the song, I think it would have just been long blond hair.)

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**The Storyteller**

After the scare of the old crone in the window, the king and Queen of Corona held tight to their precious Princess. It was hard not to cling to her, to tuck her away in a high tower to make sure she was as safe as could be.

Still, their people loved their Princess, and her presence lifted moral to heights that not even a conquering hero could achieve. So, they did not keep her in a tower. Somehow, as time passed, that tight feeling in their chests whenever she was out of their sights lessened.

Despite this, their postures were somewhat more rigid as the carriage rolled beyond the safety of the palace gates. Their child, beautiful long gold hair bundled in silks and hidden by a cape, peered out of the carriage window with wide, eager eyes.

They were not sure why her hair was so gold, or why it grew as it did. Already it was in the way, tripping anyone following too close behind unless it was bundled and tucked away. However, the Queen implored her husband that they do not cut it, not yet. That tiny lock of brunette, tucked away behind her ear, refused to grow. Let her decide when she is older, the Queen said. Of course, her husband agreed.

It was not their first time out of the palace as a family. They usually ventured out on the Princess's birthday, a day for celebration around the whole of Corona, and had been since her birth five years ago. There would be singing, and dancing, and laughter, and when the tension ebbed from their bodies, the royal couple would likely join in.

Though her eyes were wide and bright as she looked around she did not utter a word. She could, and had learned to speak earlier than most children, just as she practiced her alphabet and started to read better than most. Slowly though, she talked less and less until one day she just did not. Her parents were concerned and tried to get her to speak but the Princess refused.

It was the Queen who suggested it was a phase. Perhaps one day when she was ready she would speak again. They tried to trick her into talking again, with clever plots such as suggesting turnips for dessert, but still the Princess refused. Finally they stopped. And today they would not worry and enjoy the celebration. For their people.

Everyone was always so careful keeping an eye on the young Princess. Even if not for her near abduction, it would be a necessity. Her curiosity at the world around her often caused her to suddenly burst headlong toward whatever caught her interest. It was normally a loud proclamation, either a gasp or a giggle, so there had always been a warning.

Of course, her parents' attentions drew toward a drunken scuffle as it spilled from a bar onto the street. The guards tensed and moved forward. The Princess's personal maid would have snatched the young child up right then if a tankard of frothy mead hadn't been splashed all over her to dribble and drench the entire front of her blouse.

At that moment, a butterfly flew by. The Princess had seen butterflies, of course, but they never failed to capture her attention. It was not the lazy way they fluttered about, or the carefree nature in which they did. These would not enter the girl's mind until she was years older, when she would stare out of a window at one with an intense longing. No, today she merely chased after it because it was pretty.

The butterfly flew down alleys and street ways. The Princess never expected to be able to actually chase after it. She expected to be picked up, as always, and have her attention diverted by something else. When that did not happen she took it as permission.

In reality, she probably chased the butterfly for only five minutes, or maybe fifteen, but for her it was a child's eternity. She was oblivious to the growing dangers around her. Dogs barked around her, some fought for dominance with others in alleyways she passed. A shady couple loitered in the awning of a closed jewelers. Two streets over, a man was stabbed for nothing more than a coin and his shoes. She was venturing deeper into the part of the kingdom where not even guards ventured without company, but all she saw was the butterfly.

It landed on a flower after floating over a crooked fence. It was the only flower that grew in the muddy yard, a single stubborn dandelion that refused to give in to the destroyed plot of land. The fence was too tall for her to climb, but through determination she found the rotten slab of wood beside her shifted enough for her to crawl through. Her knees splashed in the mud, ruining her skirt, but in her excitement she paid no attention. Actually, she never minded dirt. It was always the lady who took care of her while her mother was busy that did.

With a giggle, she dashed as fast as her little feet in pinching shoes could toward the flower. To her dismay, the butterfly had left while she had crawled through the gate. She looked around the yard, but saw no sign of her new friend.

Had she not heard what she did next, she would have realized what had happened. She was lost, no way of knowing where her parents were. She would have likely curled on the weathered porch as she tried her best not to cry. However, she _did _hear something then, so she did not notice that she was indeed lost.

The window was broken at the bottom, and through it came the sound of a boy speaking. She heard people speaking all the time. It was all people ever did. Often their tones were boring and dull, or stern with untold reprimands when she did something wrong. She had heard happy and sad, angry and glad. However, this was the first time she heard someone speak with passion. Not that she knew what it was at the age of five, but it intrigued her.

Climbing on a pile of wooden boxes beneath the sill she peaked in. The room was small and crowded with a sea of children. They were all too thin with clothes too worn. The boy speaking was at that awkward age between being a child and adult, all limbs and nose with a voice that cracked at the most inopportune time. The Princess saw none of this. All she noticed was the way his eyes glowed as he told the children something, the way his gestures were wild and unrestrained. Her maid would say he was being improper, should she be here now, but to the Princess, it was captivating. Even more amazing to her was that he was reading from a book. It was worn and tattered, not at all like the pristine volumes of her family's library. Normally when someone would read from a book, their voices became even more dull than normal. Even her mother's, on the rare chance she got to read a story, would seem stiff as she read. There was warmth there, of course, but the Princess used the opportunity to snuggle against her warm side and not for her lacking skills as a Storyteller. Not this boy. He was still very much alive.

The box beneath her pinching shoe was nearly as rotted as the fence. The wood of it snapped and cracked beneath her slight weight, and she grabbed hold of the ledge as one foot fell through. She pulled it out with a hiss and a wince, staring at the torn stocking. It hurt, of course it did, but even though her eyes stung she did not want the boy with the alive voice to stop. And he would if she cried, everyone did.

She looked up when she noticed the voice _had_ stopped. Every face in the room was looking at her. She was used to attention, of course, but the looks on their faces ranged from blank curiosity to glares of mistrust. She quickly looked at the Storyteller and felt some tension leave her slight frame as he looked at her with an amused grin.

One of the other boys, older than her by a few years, raced for the door. A few others followed suit. The Princess fell off her pile of boxes at the thought of being chased.

She was halfway across the yard when she heard the complaining groan of the old front door. Fear, an unaccustomed feeling, filled her limbs and stopped her cold. She could only turn to look at the boys as they came at her. Not running, thankfully, but their annoyance was clear.

"Go on back _home,_ girl," one boy sneered. "This ain't a place for you."

The Princess opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. They would not listen, or worse, would do as everyone else did, which was stop everything and focus on her.

She hated when people did that, more so than how the boys started to circle her. Her knees trembled as the boys blurred in front of her. She heard a high pitched sound, realizing it came from her, but could not stop it.

Two arms flinging her up and tucking her against a warm body cut off her impending cries. Shocked, she looked up at the Storyteller. He was giving the boys a look that she had seen on the maid's face before. It said _you're in trouble._ Still, there was also that look her mother always gave her.

"Come on, guys, leave her alone."

"The kid don't belong here! Just look how she's dressed!"

"None of us belong here, Joe. Not her fault we are, so don't take it out on her." The Princess snuggled against his side. Aside from necessity, people rarely held her. Her parents hugged her, of course, but this was something new. This was someone else.

The boys argued for a few moments. Finally, the Storyteller shifted her in his arms. "Look. The kid can stay if she wants to."

"But Headmaster will have our head if he finds her here!"

The boy scoffed. "Please, you all know Headmaster gets sloshed on holidays. And the Princess's Birthday is the biggest one he gets. We likely won't see him 'til morning anyway."

"But-"

"Look, either she can stay if she wants, or I won't tell the story at all. Then you get to tell the kids why they don't get to hear the rest." He looked down at her. "You wanna?"

The Princess bit her lip as she nodded.

"There you go, she stays. Go on, inside, all of you." There was grumbling but the boys complied. "So kid, what's your name?"

The Princess stared at him for a second before covering her eyes with his shoulder.

"Suit yourself, Blondie."

The story was riveting and she had never heard anything like it. Since the Storyteller had brought her in, the Princess remained glued to his side, never taking her eyes off him. While the other kids sighed in longing at the passages about money and food, her heart yearned for the tales of adventure and travel. Of places far off and unexplored. She could almost see it in her mind, the pictures he was painting, but she had only seen beyond Corona's borders in paintings and pictures in books. Still, she loved the way he told it. Her mind filled it what it could.

The shadows on the walls moved with the passing of the day. Soon it was hard to see anything beyond the flickering of a candle snub the Storyteller had lit but he kept reading. When his voice sounded as though it was being pulled through gravel he kept weaving his tale.

They only stopped as shouts came from outside. The children in the room tensed, including the Storyteller. The Princess recognized the voice of the Captain so wondered why there was suddenly a thick silence in the room.

"Everyone stay calm," the Storyteller said. "It probably isn't anything serious."

"But remember what happened last month? With the robber?"

At the mention of this, some of the younger children began to whimper. Their fear filtered into the Princess and she curled tighter against the Storyteller's side.

"I'll check on it. James, you watch the others. Bethany, keep the younguns calm."

He stood up and the Princess panicked. She clutched his hand tight in hers, staring at the kids around her. They were strangers to her, and in the flickering candlelight, their faces ominous.

"Look, Blondie, I have to check it out. Can you stay here for me?"

The Princess shook her head as quickly as she could.

He sighed and thought a moment. "Fine. Come with me. But stay behind, and if I tell you to run, you _run,_ got it?"

Relief flooded her as she nodded and nearly glued herself to his leg and his hand. The rest of the house was dark, and while she could see nothing, the Storyteller knew his way around. She tripped once, and with a sigh he picked her up.

He pushed open the front door and peers out onto the street. Guards on horses and riding past, and the Princess recognized Blister, the bloodhound she used to play with when he was a puppy before he was taken away for Duty.

"Is there a problem, sirs?" the Storyteller asked. His voice sounded both strong and weak at the same time.

"Go back inside, son, we're-" the Captain halted his words as he held up his torch. Eyes wide he turned to the others. "She's here! The Princess is here!"

The Storyteller tensed against her. "Princess?"

She looked up at him and saw something she did not like. There was confusion but also that same distance she saw in others forming in his eyes. He studied her as her face crumpled. Then he sighed and the distance shrank and shrank until he shook his head. "I knew you were trouble, Blondie."

The Princess grinned and settled against him again.

"Rapunzel!" The Queen rushed through the crowd of horse and man. Ignoring a gate she climbed over the fence the rushed toward the porch.

The Storyteller tensed and backed up toward the arch of the open door. The Princess did not understand. This was her mother and he was her Storyteller.

"Y-you're," he said. "I let her stay. She came for the stories. We didn't know who she was. She only wanted the stories. I let her stay, not the others, they ain't to blame."

Why would they be to blame? Her mother apparently wondered the same. She blinked at the Storyteller before she grasped his free arm.

"You kept my baby safe, thank you, thank you," the Queen said. Then her lips were on Rapunzel's forehead, then her cheeks and nose. "We were so worried, thank you."

Worried? She just wanted the butterfly and the stories. She never wanted them to worry. The Princess reached for her mother, who took her in her arms and held her tight. By this time her father was there as well. His warm hands stroked over her cheeks and hair and she felt safe.

Then they started taking her away. No! She just found her Storyteller. Turning in her mother's arms, she reached for him. When her parents didn't stop, she reached out both her hands. "Storyteller!"

Her mother stopped and stared at the Princess. Her arms loosened enough for the Princess to slide down and rush toward her Storyteller. She wanted him to come with them, wanted to have his alive voice and his alive face and the way he did not look at her as the others did forever. She wanted to keep him.

He knelt on the porch as she rushed toward him where she clung to his neck.

"It's okay, Blondie," he said. He knew her name, who she was, yet still did not call her Princess. She tightened her grip just a little more. "I'll still be here."

She pulled back just enough to look at him. How could he know? She never saw people long aside from her parents. The Staff always changed and it was hard to recognize the faces she saw in one crowd after the next.

"Promise."

The Princess smiled.

"Your Majesties, the time is late," the Captain said. The Princess flinched. Princess was interchangeable with Highness and Majesty. Sadly she pulled away and went to her mother. Even as she was lifted into her mother's arms, and as they walked out the gate and down the road, she kept her eyes on the Storyteller. Even when they rounded a corner, she did not stop looking back.

xxx

Eugene studied his numbers by the rising sun. He hated getting up so early, but if he did not the younguns would not. According to the outside world, it was the Headmaster's job to look after them all. Instead, it was up to Eugene to look after those younger than him to keep the Headmaster from yelling at them all.

It was okay, though. Apparently he was good with children, even if they were a princess.

In a world where very little exciting happened, the commotion at the realization that the _Queen_ was there and that they had spent the day with the _Princess_ lasted longer than most things did. Even the Headmaster falling off the roof in a drunken stupor did not hold the children's attention as this had.

However, as with everything else, even the excitement of this was fading. It had been at least a day since even the older girls would swoon where the _Queen_ had stood. And last night he was not kept awake by the questions of the Princess. They had all been there and knew just as much as he did. In a few more days it would have been two weeks since they had been hosts to royalty, and Eugene was sure the kids would go back to fantasizing about other things. _Such as food,_ he thought as his stomach rumbled.

Frustrated, he set his pencil down and sighed. His concentration was always bad during the last week of the month when food was more scarce than usual. He, along with a few of the older children, halved their rations so that the younguns could eat just a little more and not cry. Even the money the older children earned as a meager stipend was not enough. After all, the Headmaster knew how much they got and took a share for maintenance. Which usually meant stocking his liquor cabinet. When Eugene went to work the fields next summer, the same would happen to his stipend.

A knock on the door made him jump. "Eugene."

"Yes, Headmaster." It was weird for the gnarled man to knock, let alone call him by name. And that sick-sweet tone meant something. Officials were here.

"I need to see you in my office," the Headmaster said.

"Yes, Headmaster." Eugene bit back a sigh as he stood. His cheek had just lost the last of the bruising from the last time the Headmaster thought he was being too smart.

He followed the older man down the flight of stares with thinly veiled contempt. He hated the way the Headmaster's shoulders hunched forward and the way his eyes gleamed in a constant state of inebriation. He hated the way the man treated the younguns.

He entered the door as the Headmaster held it open for him. That was even more odd. Headmaster never did that even when Officials were visiting.

All thoughts left his mind as he saw the Queen standing in front of a cabinet. The kids called it the Showing Off Shelf. Drawing and pictures they had made when they could afford paper and paint were nailed to the cheap wood. His was up there somewhere. The Headmaster had it up for when Officials came.

He must have made a sound for the Queen turned and smiled at him. A couple guards shifted around her, but his attention was solely on her. "Hello, Storyteller." The Queen's eyes widened slightly and Eugene was shocked when he saw a faint blush stain her cheeks. "Forgive me. It's the only name we have for you, and the only word Rapunzel has said since we returned home."

"Eugene, your majesty. Eugene Fitzherbert," he said as he gave a choppy bow. Had he bowed the last time? Blondie was asking for him? He wondered if he had done something, said something, that had twisted in the royal family's minds until they decided he needed to be executed. Or worse, thrown in jail.

"A pleasure," the Queen said with a gracious nod of her head. "I have a proposition I would like to give to you."

"You had better accept, boy," the Headmaster snarled behind him. Eugene had forgotten he was even there and the reminder made him flinch.

"If you would not mind, Headmaster, I would like to speak to Mr. Fitzherbert alone, please," the Queen said. A touch of frost was in her voice. Still, Eugene was just trying to get over the fact that someone had called him Mr. Fitzherbert. It was always Eugene. Or boy, or brat, or any other colorful names the Headmaster had for him.

Eugene could hear the Headmaster's jaw click as he opened and closed it. "As you wish, your majesty." The door shut a moment later. After all, no one refused the Queen, not even the Headmaster.

The Queen's smiled defrosted and Eugene could see why the people adored her. Even at thirteen his heart tumbled in his chest and wanted to accept whatever it was she wanted of him if only she would keep smiling at him like that.

"Mr. Fitzherbert, I'm sure you noticed an attachment my Rapunzel developed for you," she said.

He shifted. "I have a way with children, your majesty."

Her smile wilted somewhat. "A gift I wish I had," she said. "My daughter...I don't have the time I wish I did. I am with her every single second I can be, and I know it's still not enough."

Eugene thought to the night the Queen was last there. Goldie's face held the look he had seen on many happy children's faces and none of the fear on the others. He opened his mouth but it was a moment before he spoke. Could he say this to a Queen? "The Princess loves you, your Majesty. I can see it on her face. You're good to her."

Her eyes widened and he wondered if he would be executed on the spot. Then her eyes warmed as her face glowed from happiness. He was dizzy from the radiance and the relief at no execution. Maybe.

He cleared his throat. Pretty soon he would need to sit down and he was not sure he was allowed to in front of her. "What is your request, your majesty?"

"Before I give it, I want you to know it is just that. A request." His confusion must have shown on his face. "I am not here as a Queen, but as a mother."

He nodded slowly, still not understanding.

"I was wondering if you would be interested in coming to the palace to be Rapunzel's Storyteller. There is a room ready to be prepared if you accept."

Against his wishes he sat. He had no choice, his legs hollowed of their own accord until they could no longer support his weight. The palace? Him? His mind raced at the possibilities. He opened his mouth to accept before he heard the muffled yell of the Headmaster. "I can't leave the younguns."

He thought he said it quiet enough but her shoulders sagged. "I understand."

Eugene's mind raced for a moment. The Queen was saying something and the guards were shifting to move out but he was not paying attention. Blondie's bright eyes smiling up at him drifted through his vision. There had to be a way he could do both.

"Wait," he said. He had no plan, but wanted to somehow do this. Yet not leave the younguns. Then he remembered the field where he would work next summer. The words tumbled out of his mouth in a panic. "We get jobs. We go out and come back and bring something and I know it's not the same but I do want to do this but I can't leave and I don't know if you would want to do that but it's the only thing I can think of and-"

"Eugene," the Queen said. His name on her lips along with her warm hand on his shoulder halted his desperate ramble. Though her hand was so small, he felt so much tinier beneath it. "That is a perfect solution."

Relief coursed through his veins as he slumped in his chair. Then she mentioned her suggested wage and asked if that would be sufficient. His eyes bulged. He could feed the children on that. And he'd have enough to save for emergencies, or when he moved out. It likely wouldn't be much, but he would not be destitute as so many of the others feared being the morning of their eighteenth birthday.

"That's what the taxes are for," the Queen said. Once again, he had not realized he had spoken out loud. "They are to support many things including this orphanage."

Before he could think he snorted. "Money dwindles as it sifts through hands." It was an old saying, and everyone here knew it. More so at the hands of the Headmaster. Then he remembered who he was speaking to. "Uh...your majesty."

The Queen looked at him. "Very well. We will draw up a contract, which you will then sign on your first day. We can discuss how often you visit before I leave."

Eugene nodded. Over the next hour, it was decided that he would come over once a week. Thursdays were Blondie's free day, so it would be the best. It worked for him, as well. They were short days for the older children, and so they'd be getting home as he left. He would stay for some hours, depending, and his meals would be taken with the Princess in the library.

Being fed was a bonus Eugene had not expected. Nor was the promise of payment even in weeks the royal family would be out of town. Illness was also covered. Eugene was hardier than most, but he still got sick. And the last perk was that the Queen suggested the Headmaster learn of his wages from Eugene and not her. The sly look in her eye told him he had her permission to maybe fib a little on that matter.

Also, through her words and the observation honed through the years, he learned that Blondie was perhaps a little difficult at times. It was requested that he try to get her to open up and to perhaps expand her vocabulary to more than her new favorite word.

His one big request was that this was to be done with them and them alone. The Queen's eyes filled with panic and he was quick to explain. He knew of Blondie's near abduction as a baby and so knew that the fear he saw was not directed at him, but at _possibilities._ There could be as many guards as they wanted outside the doors. They could have the door open if they desired. They could bar the windows if that made them feel more at ease. His reasoning was that he did not know how to deal with children when more capable people were around. He did not voice this out loud, though, just made a vague remark about one on one usually working best for him.

By the end, Eugene was dizzy with it all. As she prepared to leave he was flooded with apprehension. Could he really do this? He had gotten children out of their shells before, and in those cases the children usually came from less than ideal parents. And the children here _had_ no parents, or at least none that would claim them. Fear and doubt flooded his mind. Was it too late to take it back? To suggest someone more capable?

"Eugene?" the Queen said as she stood in the door. He turned and caught her smile. When she smiled like that, her eyes glowed as bright as Blondie's. "Thank you. She will be so excited when she finds you next Thursday."

He blinked. "She doesn't know?"

The Queen tilted her chin down. "I did not want to get her hopes up in case you said no. If I had told her and you refused, she would have been crushed."

Any idea to suggest someone else flooded from his mind.

**-end**

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___I am amused that Gothel's name was suggested to be changed to Brothel and Othello..._

_I ended it open-ended on purpose. Also, not sure how this will be received. If you've read this, I've cleverly hidden the fact that this is my first Tangled story ever. (Sneaky, I know! Muahaha.) Heck, it's my first Disney story ever. So I may be a bit insecure. However, I did leave it at a place that could suit as an ending, but it can also continue. I do have ideas, if there's interest. (Or heck, I may just write it anyway.)_

_If anyone feels along the lines of 'OMG so much OOC!' let me know. I think I went with an AU on purpose. I've read so many wonderful fics in so few short days that I don't even know if I can write them well in the correct setting!_

_Also, I am so new to the fandom. I mean, it became my Number Two favorite Disney Movie of all time within weeks of it's release! (Mulan will always be Number One for me, more due to personal reasons.) However, until recently, I had no idea that it had a fandom that appears to be large, or that there was still one around! So um...HI!_

_Okay, I shall stop my rambling. Heh._


	2. Shifting Colors

I...was not expecting this reception. -gathers reviews and curls on them like a dragon- Mmm, treasure. (Thank you, everyone!)

My eternal thanks to **Wolfram-and-Hart-Sauron** who willingly put on a beta hat for me. He's even dealing with my nonlinear writing, which already has a bunch of stuff all out of order. In a short few days, with his suggestions and our general writing back and forth, I sometimes think he knows my brain better than I do and I ponder wearing a tinfoil hat.

**Random:** I did some math. If Rapunzel is five foot tall and has a twelve inch doll made to scale, her hair would be fourteen feet long. That's about the length of two Michael Jordans, one standing on the other's shoulders. (I dunno why I did the math on that. (But I am amazed I remembered that incredibly simple formula, I hate math.) Guess I was just annoyed all her dolls only have hair down to her ankles or something.)

**Disclaimer:** If I owned the movie, Tangled's sequel would have been a movie. Likely very boring, but a movie nonetheless. And full of too much cuddling and not enough adventure. So, as much as I hate to admit it, it's a very good thing I don't own Tangled.

While this is an AU, I really want to keep the core of the characters, if that makes sense. If I didn't have that, this may as well be an original fiction. So please, if they get too far out of the realm of believability for who they are at the core, please let me know.

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**Shifting Colors **

The Princess stood still as her maid adjusted her shoes. They were her first with heels, and though they were not too tall, the unfamiliar angle sent her toes to be crushed by the odd, angled point.

"I heard about these shoes from my cousin." The maid straightened the Princess's stalkings. "They are going wild about them in the larger kingdoms. How lucky you are to be the first to wear them here."

The Princess arched an eyebrow. Luck was not something she thought of with her toes being crushed.

"Of course, you _would_ be. The first. I did not mean to say otherwise." Though nice enough, this new maid was funny. She would say something, then explain why she said it or amend her words. It made the Princess sad, though, because even though the maid was nice, she never listened.

There was a short knock on the door before it opened. The Princess knew who it was, her father being out of town and no one else dared to knock. What was her mother doing here?

"I can take it from here, Mildred." The maid nodded and left the main chamber. "There has been a change in your schedule today, dear. I am taking you to the library."

The Princess froze before following the Queen out of the room. Thursdays were normally her one day away from lessons. Was there something new? Had her mother told her but she had forgotten? The Princess had been preoccupied with thoughts of her Storyteller and wishing to see him again that more than once her tutors snapped her back to attention with a smart smack of a ruler against the wood table.

As they neared the library, the Princess felt trepidation well inside her. Perhaps her tutors had told the Queen of her lack of concentration. Was there some unknown punishment waiting for her? Was it a room full of pinchy shoes from all around the world, each one waiting to gobble her from the ankles up? Or was she doomed to an eternity of studying nothing but geography and math until supper?

"Here we are." The Queen nodded toward the guard, who pushed open the large doors. There were several guards here, more than she was used to. Were they here to ensure she could not escape when her tutor's back was turned?

She was expecting an afternoon of torment. She was expecting a balding man in crisp clothes with a face that was pinched more than her toes. She was not expecting the young man, clothes clean but worn and hair pointing to everywhere and nowhere. She was not expecting a cacophony of expressions, from nervousness to amusement to mischief.

Closing her mouth, the Princess looked up at her mother. This could not really be happening.

"I requested his assistance, and Mr. Fitzherbert has agreed," the Queen said. Her eyes twinkled. "Thursdays are now for your Storyteller."

"Hey, Blondie."

At the sound of his voice she knew it was real. The ache in her toes confirmed it. With aching cheeks she rushed forward, stopping inches away to stare up at him. Turning to her mother, she bounced in place before turning back. Colors grew brighter around her and the once stuffy room was transformed into a limitless well of potential.

"I will leave you two," the Queen said. "And I will have the cook prepare something for you both later this afternoon."

The Princess did not know what to do with herself. She felt as though she would expand to fill the entire castle as the door shut.

"You know, if you smile like that at night the ships would have an easier time docking." Her Storyteller shifted and looked around. There was a sudden awkwardness about him and for a moment his demeanor reminded her of an errant puzzle piece that got mixed in the wrong box. That thought made her inexorably sad because he had been that one piece that had always been missing.

She clutched the sleeve of his shirt and tugged. The coarse fabric was unlike any of the sheer satins or velvet in her home and held his warmth. She wanted to wrap herself in it.

"Right," her Storyteller said as he sat down in a plush chair. He jerked as surprise filled his eyes when he sank down. He was quick to recover and grin at her. "Rumor has it you like stories."

The Princess ducked her head. She had not until him. Before, stories had been nothing more than words and letters. He wove them together to make a brilliant tapestry come to life.

"Yeah, well, you got weird taste." He looked around the room some more. "Now, I may not know much, but I do know that proper introductions are important. My name's Eugene."

The Princess stared at him. What exactly was he expecting from her?

"I'm not going to read to you until you tell me your name." Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms as he looked at her.

The Princess stared at him. He knew her name, everyone did. So why did he want her to tell him? She wondered if he would cave and just start reading. Eventually, everyone gave up trying to get her to talk.

When he shifted in his chair, maybe ten minutes later, she thought he had given up, as well. She was happy, because that meant a story was coming, but her shoulders sagged in disappointment.

"I told you, Blondie. I'm not going to read until you tell me. I can do this all night if it takes that long." Eugene set down the book he brought and picked up the one at the edge of the small table beside his chair. He flipped through pages, his eyes skimming over words. Soon, the only sound in the room was that of the crackling fire behind him and the occasional shifting of paper.

At first she was furious. Turning her back on him, she plopped on the floor with a serious pout on her face. Why was he doing this? It wasn't fair!

Soon, though, she wanted to hear his story. She wanted to hear his voice and watch his face as it got excited. Looking over her shoulder she saw he was intently focused on the book. His face held none of the excitement she remembered and she did not like it. Standing she quietly walked toward him. He ignored her completely as he turned a page.

She placed a tentative hand on his arm. "Hm?" he said.

"Rapunzel." The name was strange on her tongue and odder still to her ears.

"Thank goodness, that book is so dull." He tossed the thick tome back on the table and slumped in his chair. "There's only so much a guy can take about the taxation of lettuce before he wants to off himself!"

She was not sure what he meant, but he was alive again. She grinned widely at him as she picked up the book he brought and held it out to him.

He took it, but looked at her. "Why was that so hard for you?"

She shifted and stared at at her tiny shoes.

"Hey," he said after a moment. "You wanna take off your shoes?"

She looked at him as though he were the oddest creature on earth. Take off her shoes? She always had to wear shoes except in the bath and her bed. She was a Princess. She pointed at her crown to remind him of that.

He rolled his eyes as he reached toward it. He plucked it off her head and sat in on the table, over the book about lettuce taxing. "Well, not right now, you're not. If I'm gonna be pulled out of my element, so are you. When I'm here, you're not gonna be a Princess, you're just gonna be Blondie."

Not be a Princess? The thought terrified as well as thrilled her. Even at her young age, she knew she would still _be _a Princess, despite what he said. But she could pretend she wasn't. And he would let her. He would not scorn her, tell her that taking off her shoes was not something a Princess did. She could probably slouch or lay on the carpet, or even sit without crossing her ankles. She could probably even take her hair down.

"Hey, are you okay?"

The Princess did not realize she was crying. It was not even the loud cries she sometimes did, just the flowing of water from her eyes. Still, now she realized it, and she began to hiccup as she tried to stop. He touched her arm just as she fell to the floor, ripping off her pointed shoe with the pointed heel and pointed toe. Her vision was too blurry, so it took longer, but he was working on her other shoe. He slipped it off her foot and handed it to her. She threw it at the other chair before tearing off her stocking. That made it a few feet before the lack of weight for momentum eased it gently on the carpet. Soon her feet were free, her footwear nowhere by. She paused a moment, still sniffling, to flex her toes against the soft carpet.

"There." Eugene gave the arches of her feet a firm rub. "Are you ready for a story yet? You have to be pretty comfy to get into it, you know."

The Princess paused a moment, thinking. Then, with a shy glance up at him, reached for the silk binding holding her hair in place. She tried to work it loose herself, but someone always did it for her when she had to have it washed. It would take forever, but she loved those rare days when her hair floated freely around her while drying. She wanted to sleep with it down, but no one ever undid it for her. She figured as a Princess, she would not be allowed to.

Still, she knew her hair was an oddity. Young though she was, she never missed the looks she received when a hair washer was new. She noticed that no one else's hair was as long, or as blonde, as hers. Even though she loved her hair, she still felt ashamed of it.

His fingers joined hers. He fumbled with the ties and straps but she did not mind. "Now, I gotta say, Blondie, I don't know much about girls' hair. Betty always does the brushing and braiding of the younguns. However, let me know if I pull too hard. I know that's supposed to hurt. Tom pulled on Erica's braid last week, and she socked him clean in the eye. I think he kinda likes her and _wow_ that's a lot of hair."

Her hair was free and tumbled to the floor. She noticed he was staring at her, and even though he looked at her in an odd way, it wasn't the same as others. Still, her hair was _free._ She giggled as she gathered some in her hands and danced around, trailing the blonde hair behind her.

When she stopped, she looked up at him. He was still staring at her hair. Shy now, she pulled some over an eye as she turned away.

"Well, I know a guy with six toes. How is long hair any weirder?" he asked as he sat back down. "Now, are you ready for your story?"

Excited, she nodded and skipped toward him. She leaned against the arm of the chair as she stared up at him in expectation and excitement.

"This is a long one, Blondie. You may wanna get comfortable."

He shifted over in the chair, making room for her. Happily she curled against his side

"Thank you." she said just as he started to read.

He read on as though he did not hear, but squeezed her shoulder and read to her until his voice was hoarse.

**-end Part Two**

* * *

_I have a good idea where I'm going with this. As of now, it looks like it will be in two long parts, which is gonna be over several chapters each. I just need to hammer out details and try to write in a linear fashion..._


	3. Pictures

As always, millions of thanks to **Wolfram-and-Hart-Sauron**. Without his help, suggestions, patience, and a whole slew of other stuff, I probably would have thrown things at the wall eight days ago. (Seriously, his brain is crazy awesome. If I ever get turned into a zombie I would spare his brain. Or totally eat it to get his smarts, depending on which version of zombie lore you choose.)

Also, I apologize for the delay in this. I was having trouble thinking of just _how_ to get this bit done. However, I did get a Tangled video made. Go me. (You can search for it on youtube. Just put "shifting dreams flynn" and it's the one by Cat Bru.) And I got sucked into Tumblr RP, which has been fun. (gottagetmeoneofthese, if you're interested in spying.)

Also made a cover. I thought I could draw, then remembered I couldn't, so it's basically a collage with craptastic photoshop skills. I like it though!

And now for the next chapter!

**Disclaimer:**If I owned Tangled, there would have been a lot more angst because that's how I roll.

* * *

**Pictures**

The area surrounding the orphanage was not a safe place for anyone. As Eugene headed through the dirty streets he wondered just how Goldie had made it this far without being taken or worse. Perhaps it had been that it was a day for celebration. Or perhaps that girl just had more luck than any one person should. By all rights the kidnapping when she was a baby should have succeeded. It had only been a loose rock and a fall for that old crone that saved her from whatever that future would have been.

xx

The Princess stared at the intricately detailed clock hanging from her wall. The pendulum swung and ticked down the seconds. Normally it was a soothing sound, but today it taunted her with each second. She would look at it, sure it was time, when only a minute had passed since the last time she looked.

xx

His imagination ran wild as it always did after reading. What possible futures could the princess have had? The woman had been crippling old. Could Rapunzel have lived her life as nothing more than a house maid to the infirm woman? Or would things have happened to her, things that had happened too many of the children, things that made him so cold to think of even on the hottest summer day.

If she had been taken, Eugene wondered if she would have ever been found. Who would have found her? He wanted to hope that he could have done it, maybe when he was older. At thirteen, he could not have even hoped to have saved himself. Even as he thought of his future, bleak as it was, he knew he could not save her as Eugene. If only he were Flynnigan Rider.

xx

A girl, older than the Princess yet younger than the maid, laced the tight bodice of her gown. It pinched at her skin and she could scarcely breathe.

The Princess settled her arms to her side as the girl started to work on her hair. She wanted to say not to bother, she'd be taking it down soon, but held her silence. Turning back toward the clock, she wondered if Eugene would help her loosen the corset strings.

xx

He delved down this mental path, clutching to the tale weaving its way behind his open eyes to affect the world around him. No longer were there pickpockets and thieves, but bloodthirsty pirates hiding in the depths of the alleys. The screaming cat and the far off cry of a seagull became the roars of lions and dragons. No longer was he traversing the familiar streets of Corona heading out to read to Goldie. Instead he was creeping toward the lair of the vile sorceress who had kidnapped their princess so long ago.

Rugged leather and sturdy boots replaced threadbare clothing as the tale unfolded. No longer was he the scrawny Eugene Fitzherbert, left by a mother too soon and a father who never was. No, now he was the greatest hero ever to walk the roads of every land. He was the one who fought back the hordes of cannibals on the Isle Trassix. He was rescuer of damsels and kittens alike. He traversed the seven seas with nothing but a raft and a bottle of rum, whatever that tasted like. He was Flynnigan Rider, and rescuing princesses from locked towers was what he did best.

xx

"Would you like some soup, dear?"

The Princess looked up at her new maid. The new lady was more attentive than the others. While the Princess had thought she wanted it, the way the maid hovered made her feel as restricted as her tight bodice.

So she shook her head and turned back to look at the clock. Her Storyteller would be here soon.

Then she did something she had only done a handful of times before. As the Princess stared at the clock, the gold face blurred out of focus and became a fragmented landscape.

The Princess thought in letters and sound. When studying during lessons, she grasped the logical with ease. It was the fanciful that had left her struggling. When her English tutor compared a flower to life, she could not work it out in her mind. When he read her stories, all she could see in her mind were the words he spoke. She had never thought of why that was. No one had ever taken the time to cultivate her imagination, and her tutors all spoke in that same monotone that blurred into one another.

Then she met the Storyteller. His words had taken her to places she had never seen. She was not just hearing words and sounds, but seeing what he was describing. She had tried alone after that but the images escaped as soon as they arrived.

Slow at first then in a steady flow, her blank mind formed swirls and patterns of unknown places. Then she was transported to a world, blotchy and disjointed as an atrophied skill slowly started to unfurl.

She focused her mind and a haphazard image of her Storyteller took shape.

xx

With a sure foot and an agile gate, Flynnigan Rider kept a watchful eye on his surroundings. He saw the barking puppy for the hungry snarls and howls of the bloodhound it really was. That woman offering a fortune for a coin could not disguise her hydra snakes curled beneath the cloth around her head. If he was not careful, she would cast her gaze on him and turn him to stone and he would not be able to climb this wall to rescue the long lost princess of Corona.

xx

The Princess lost her concentration when the maid clanged the empty breakfast trays together.

"Stop with your fidgeting, Princess. It's unbecoming in a lady of your stature."

The Princess studied the new maid's face. Mostly people scuttled around as though she were a fragile glass to be coddled and protected. This new woman treated her as though she should already be more than what she was.

Still staring at the maid, the Princess kicked off a shoe. The maid's face turned beat red before bending down to place it back on the Princess's foot.

"Princess, you really shouldn't do that," the maid patiently explained. "Because your feet will get chilled and you can become sick."

The Princess nodded and her wide innocent eyes twinkled in understanding.

Her other shoe arched high and landed on a pillow.

xx

He would scale mortar and stone with the strength of his arms. He would climb through and whisk her away. He would fight the evil sorceress, die for the princess if he had to, because she was the only one who ever saw him for something more than just a worthless orphan, who needed him for no other reason than his ability to tell stories, and so he would climb this wall and go in and grab her hand and take her away with nothing to defend themselves but their wit and a frying pan.

He reached for the wall and the book fell out of his hand. The world shifted and refocused and he was Eugene again. Just Eugene standing by the bakery with its owner glowering at him from the window. _I know your type,_ those eyes said. _You will never accomplish anything._

xx

The maid had left in a huff. The Princess was alone now. She felt a giddy tingle in her fingertips.

She remembered how her Storyteller had looked when he told his tales. His excitement and passion in one passage alone was more than she had seen on anyone else for as long as she could remember.

His eyes would slide close sometimes and he would fall silent and she mimicked the move. When she did, she realized why he had done it.

His face was sharper now. It was like staring at a rock at the bottom of the pond. Some features were clear one moment then a ripple would cast the focus elsewhere, but she could see him, just as he was when his story had soared to the climax.

What would it have been like, to grow up where he was? The logical part told her it would be hard and different, though could not yet grasp why. But she could see herself there now, dressed as the other girls in muted browns. And then she decided her long hair didn't belong, so it was as it appeared in the mirror, just past her shoulders. And it was hard and she had no maids and she did not know where her parents were, but it was okay because it was story time. Just like it was every day.

There was a clash of metal against metal as a guard shifted outside her door. The sound jerked her back to reality and she stared at the door, feeling as though she had been caught doing something wrong.

It had not felt wrong. It was secret and new, and for now she would keep it to herself like everything else.

As her hands shook she clutched them tight to her chest. Her eyes were burning and her chest expanding from within. She knew now why painters painted. It was not to capture a moment in time, but a moment in the mind before it completely fled.

Rapunzel wondered knew if Eugene knew. She wondered if he even realized what he had given her. Without meaning to, he had brought her pictures.

xx

Ignoring the eyes and the accusation he leaned against the wall to catch his breath, not sure what had taken it away in the first place. Sometimes he wondered in the moments just after his mind went rampant just what else he had imagined. His legs were moving then as he raced down the streets, ignoring the burn of muscles and the real dangers around him. Eugene only slowed when he entered the palace gates, this time knowing why his lungs were burning.

He squared his shoulders as he walked by whispering guards and help and ladies and gentlemen.

_Just a phase._

_Soon he'll be gone._

_Five maids in two years._

_She'll bore of him soon enough._

As much as he tried he could not be Flynnigan Rider right then and his ears burned.

The sanctuary of the library gave him respite from the whispers but not his mind. Doubts more familiar than an embrace circled through his thoughts. Why him? What was it about _him_ that made a princess want his company? There were others who could tell her stories, who had more experience, who were just more.

He slumped into the overly soft chair that threatened to swallow him. It wanted to erase him and all evidence that he ever existed. His freshly washed shirt sleeves felt filthy between his clenched fingers.

xx

The Princess was out of the room as the clock sounded the time. At last, he was here!

Racing through the halls, she wondered if the guard smiling at the maid liked dogs. Did that tutor with the mole on his nose have a collection of the cabbage he smelled like at home?

She did not know. One day she would ask.

The Princess paused in the middle of the corridor just before the library. Ask? It was then she realized she wanted to. She just did not know how. Would they hear her now? Or would they once again ignore her words and listen only to her tiara instead? She was not sure.

Would he? Would her Storyteller, if she did speak to him, listen to what she said? Would he answer questions?

She hoped so. She _thought_ so. But the idea of him with the look of the others made her want to curl in a ball. She may try one day, but for now she was too terrified.

_No. Stop._

Resolute, she squared her shoulders and marched forward. Then she remembered it was Thursday and that he was here and she burst out running once again.

xx

Though they were more silent than most the library doors still grunted beneath its great weight. The sunlight filtered through the crack, illuminating her already bright hair. Then Goldie waltzed in, taking off her hair net and flinging off her ridiculous shoes as she went until she was steps away from him. Her smile was as radiant as her hair and her eyes darted over his face as though she could not believe he was there. Eugene realized two truths; she had not been kidnapped and she wanted him there. He felt relieve at the first though he knew the second would always be a conundrum.

Goldie blinked and tilted her head. His chest felt strangled and light all at the same time and the way she looked at him confused and frightened him.

Eugene cleared his throat as he turned his focus on the battered books on the pristine table beside them. "We have a couple of choices today. You want to hear about the story of a frog? And come here, I'll loosen those strings for you."

**-end Part Three**

* * *

_Speaking of zombies, I can only get into humorous ones. "Wasting Away," as cheesetastic as it is, is just way too funny for words. Or maybe it's my sense of humor. _


End file.
